I wasn’t fast enough with my camera. Trying to adjust the ISO settings and shorten the shutter speed while protecting my phone camera lens took some time to troubleshoot, but I caught a half crescent as the eclipse inched towards totality.
As much as I would have loved to see the eclipse from the summit, I knew better. The roads to my mountain are in rough shape still and after the snow storms of the last two weeks, the trails are likely deep in winter hiking conditions. I like to hike, but not that much. I always seem to end up planning my hikes on the same schedule as my garden: I pack my backpack and set out my tomato seedlings when I see the last of the snow disappear from Abram’s summit, sometime between Memorial Day and the first of June.
I’ve seen a partial solar eclipse once before, in 2017. And I’ve seen a few lunar eclipses, even photographing one and freezing my fingers in the process. In my opinion, gas station coffee never tastes as good as a 4:30 morning when your nose is still defrosting from being outside in Maine’s delightful winter weather.
I am still a novice at the fine art of wielding a camera. The technique and science behind a good photo are still largely unknown to me, but I know to take dozens of photos and hope one comes out decent, and to be fair, the strategy usually works out in my favor.
The sun was still surprisingly bright, all the way to the last glimmer of partiality. The change was notable with the shadows casting crescent-shaped spots of light around us and the temperatures dropping, turning the warm breeze rather cold. I wished I had a sweatshirt, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the darkening sky to go get one. Through the photos, with the protective lens cover and some adjustments to the lighting, I could see the crescent growing thinner and thinner before suddenly everything stopped.
I think I forgot to take a breath.
The sky was a deep velvety blue – midnight blue – and between the blackened sun and the mountain range to the northwest, tiny stars appeared. Not stars, we learned later, but planets in our shared solar system. Logically, I know that planets and stars alike continue to shine during our daylight hours, washed out and made invisible by the brightness of our home star, but emotionally it was a sudden jolt to know that the familiar landmarks never really go away, even when I cannot see them.
The birds had not been particularly noisy before, but for one minute and forty seconds everything was silent, save the murmuring voices of the folks around me. The traffic out on the highway seemed to have stopped.
It was eerie in a strangely beautiful way.
Totality passed quickly, and as the first spark of sunlight came back into view, I captured the diamond ring around the sun.
The photo I didn’t know I was looking for, but captured nonetheless.
As it grew lighter around us, the temperatures started to rise. The turkey vultures came flying out of the pine trees, circling and talking. They had not been around at all before the eclipse, and I still don’t know what drew them out afterwards. While we tidied up and packed the remnants of a cookout lunch, my friend spotted a small bat flying around in the broad daylight. It circled around a few times before disappearing into the pines. I haven’t seen bats since late last fall when a few flew around my yard snapping at the last of the bugs. I spent too long watching them then, and I spent a long time watching this bat today. I half expected to see my neighborhood owl come out during the totality, but if it did, I never saw it.
From the weather reports I’ve seen this weekend and earlier today, it sounded like Maine was the best place to see totality. Cool temperatures and low humidity kept the cloud cover away.
I’m glad I got to see totality, and even more grateful for the time spent with good company in the place I call home.
Inspired by the author’s love of Mount Abraham, or Mount Abram for locals, Thoughts from the Summit is a column celebrating and exploring the great outdoors in and around Maine’s High Peaks region.
Do you have photos from the eclipse you’d like to share? We would love to showcase them in our next Sunday Photos collection! Send us an email at thedailybulldog@gmail.com
